Page 51 of Keep It

“We will.” He says against my lips. “After.”

The elevator doors opening save me from speaking. He pulls away and tugs me into the hallway. Anything I had planned to say earlier has slipped between my fingers like the strands of his smooth hair. When he releases me to pull his key from his pocket, I press my fingers to my tingling lips.

Get it together Anya,I tell myself.

Inside the room, he presses me against the door, claiming my lips again, his tongue teasing mine. I can’t catch my breath, let alone summon the words that are lingering at the edge of my mind.

“You taste so fucking good,” he mumbles as he runs his hands down my side, clasping my thigh in his hand and hiking it around his hip. I whimper at the new angle as he grinds into me.

Heat spreads across my body at the pressure. My hands work their way back to his hair, my fingers spreading through the silky strands. I tug his hair until his head pulls back. His hooded eyes linger on my surely swollen lips.

I swallow. “We need to talk.”

We both take a breath, my chest heaving, brushing against his.

He steps back and readjusts himself in his jeans. “Do you, ah, want a drink? I have wine.”

“God, yes.” I pull the hair off my neck, attempting to cool down. “Wait, no. Wine andthis,” I wave my hand between us, “is a terrible hindrance on my ability to think logically.”

He smirks as he hands me a glass. “I already poured.”

I take it gratefully, swallowing a large swig as I perch on the small armchair.

He sits on the coffee table, so close to me his knees on either side of mine. He sets his glass on the table.

“So,” he says, looking entirely too pleased at my flustered bumbling.

“So,” I parrot, taking another gulp. “You go first.”

He laughs as he runs his hands through his hair, “I think you know what I’m going to say.”

I shake my head. I have no idea what’s going through his head.

“I like fucking you.” Well then. “And I think you like it too. So we should do it again.”

I can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of me. “It’s pretty simple when you say it like that.”

His grin lights me up inside.

I take another sip of my wine, the whole glass nearly empty.

“Do you?” he asks, his blue eyes dark.

“Stop looking at me like that and saying things to me.”

He laughs, “So don’t look at you or speak to you?”

“Ideally.”

“Sure thing.” He doesn’t look away.

Taking a deep breath, I try to assemble my thoughts. “Okay, so I mean. You are — you. Ah, I don’t know!”

“Why are you overthinking this, freckles?”

“I’m notoverthinking, I’m justthinking.”

He stays silent, his fingers tracing my thigh through my jeans.

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